A Bitter Morning
by BreakingRad
Summary: She talks to shadows, to the slowly coiling steam from his coffee mug, and she tries to be content with it.


I fell in love,

From this point onwards,  
>Keep connecting, connecting!<br>So that it will never be broken  
>Touch the hair, even more with these lips<br>A bitter morning has arrived

_- Home _

There were times Yomo caught her but so far he hasn't said something about it. To be honest, he hasn't said anything about a lot of things since then, the silent man slipping into the quiet more than usual. Comfort and promises are things they can't afford, flimsy phrases that bear no weight especially in a world where strength and heart do not matter in the grand scale of things. Days spent are unbearably long and the nights are soundless above the din of the city's noise, the dark violet sky of the early morning the only comfort to her as she trekked to school. It is only then that she can bear to listen to everything around her, to the muted stillness of a city that she never really got attached to.

School has become more of a chore than what it was before. She did her homework diligently, crammed before exams, and minded her classmates. She never really tried hard to make friends back then and she's certainly not trying now, not when every roll call is like a stab in the gut and every time someone calls her she's expecting to see someone else call out and say "Yes, what is it?" because the current her is more of a farce than a person and she doesn't really want to stretch out the lies further until she can't reel them back in.

(She asked Yomo why it had to be Hikari Kosaka and Yomo, in a rare display of emotion, smiled at her ruefully. "So you can have something to remember them with." And she should have refused, because remembering them was more painful this way.)

Lunch was easier for her this time around, the girls she surrounded herself with content with dainty sandwiches and small snacks from the cafeteria. Dieting is an acceptable excuse and no one has to force her to eat some more and stuff her with their own handmade lunch because she "doesn't eat enough". And it was easy, so easy to not run in the restroom after breaks but sometimes, when she's had enough, she'd buy the largest meal set and scarf it down, not minding the bile rising in her throat or the pain she'd be in afterwards.

Ghosts haunt her at work, lurking in every cup of coffee she served and the numerous jars of beans stacked up in the cupboards. It wasn't like Anteiku, in the sense that the café was purely human and she was the only worker present aside from a few part-timers from the university across the street. But even then, it still wasn't Anteiku at all. Sometimes she'd catch herself barking out angry orders to someone who isn't there, watching out for a joke that wasn't necessarily funny but she'd be glad to laugh at nonetheless, a calming presence that would always listen to her and she knows she has to stop this game but how do you exorcise spirits no one can see and who only exist to her?

Weekends were the worst because she has all the time in the world but not the time she wanted. She'd clean the house and do homework, or even watch television. But most of the time she read. She'd read though the few books he left accidentally at her apartment and at the café, leafing through the pages carefully as if they were insect wings, too brittle to the touch. She'd run her fingers through the carefully jotted notes at the sides, a spark of annoyance at the thought that his writing is definitely more feminine than hers. She'd read for hours, trying to see what he saw, searching between blocks of text for hidden messages and waiting for that light in his eyes to ignite and spark but she had to remind herself, that he isn't here.

She didn't know when it started but she often found herself on mornings, when the whole world has just started to wake up, seated on the table with two steaming mugs of coffee resting on it. She watched as he picked up the mug and took a sip, smiling at her as he complimented her on the taste. He talked about the ages past, of flowers growing by the riverbanks, of the rise and fall of humanity, and the beautiful tragedy that is death. And she'd listen to him and sometimes she'd reply but mostly she listened, and sometimes there'll be other voices. But it's always just her and him.

And when the sun finally took its place in the sky, bright light threatening the little tableaux they have, blurring the outlines of his shadow, of his face, he'll always say the same thing before he leaves.

"I want you to be happy."

She sits in silence for a while before a buzz from her phone distracts her from her reverie and she answers the call.

"-better come this time, I won't accept any excuses!" the voice on the other end clearly enunciated, In the background, voices mixed and blended with each other and she felt a tiny pang.

She paces around, pausing in front of the table, looking at the lonely mug across from hers and she knows she has to try.

"Okay, I'll be there." She replies and hangs up.

Outside, the world keeps on moving on. She picks up her jacket and slams the door behind her on the way out.

She leaves the mugs where they are, the other one still pleasantly warm.


End file.
